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Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career.
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell !

O righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save?
Where was thine arm, O vengeance ! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Sion and of God ?

Departed spirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled !
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own!
O! once again to Freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell,- the Bruce of Bannockburn !

Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see
That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free!
A little while, along thy saddening plains,
The starless night of Desolation reigns ;
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven !
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled,
Her name, her nature, withered from the world!

53. MARCO BOZZARIS. -Fitz-Greene Halleck.

Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece, fell in a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Plataa, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were: -“To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain.”

At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,

Should tremble at his power:
In dreams through camp and court he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, -
Then pressed that monarch's throne, a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.
An hour passed on, — the Turk awoke;

That bright dream was his last;
He woke, to hear his sentries shriek,
“ To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek”
He woke, to die midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast

As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzaris cheer his band :-
“Strike — till the last armed foe expires !
Strike - for


altars and your fires ! Strike for the green graves of your sires !

God, and your native land!” They fought, like brave men, long and well;

They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered; but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,

And the red field was won ;
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother's when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath ;

Come when the blesséd seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in Consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet song, and dance, and wine, -
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,

Of agony, are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword

Ilas won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee: there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime.

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, – One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die!

BLAZE, with your serried columns! I will not bend the knee ;
The shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free!
I 've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low;
And where it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow.
I 've scared you in the city ; I've scalped you on the plain ;
Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain !
I scorn your proffered treaty; the pale-face I defy;
Revenge is stamped upon my spear, and “ blood” my battle-cry!
Some strike for hope of booty; some to defend their all; –
I battle for the joy I have to see the white man fall.
I love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan,
And catch, while chanting at his side, the music of his groan.
Ye've trailed me through the forest; ye’ve tracked me o'er the stream ;
And struggling through the everglade your bristling bayonets gleam.
But I stand as should the warrior, with his rifle and his spear;
The scalp of vengeance still is red, and warns you, “Come not here!"

to find

my homestead ? — I gave it to the fire.
My tawny household do ye seek? — I am a childless sire.
But, should ye crave life's nourishment, enough I have, and good;
I live on hate, 't is all my bread; yet light is not my food.
I loathe you


my bosom! I scorn you with mine eye! And I 'll taunt you with my latest breath, and fight you till I die! I ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave; But I 'll swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath the wave !

55. BATTLE HYMN. — Theodore Korner. Born, 1791 ; fell in battle, 1813.
Father of earth and Heaven! I call thy name!

Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;
My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame;

Father! sustain an untried soldier's soul.

Or life, or death, whatever be the goal
That crowns or closes round the struggling hour,

Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole
One deeper prayer, 't was that no cloud might lower
On my young fame! — O hear! God of eternal power!
Now for the fight! Now for the cannon-peal!

Forward, -- through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire !
Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,

The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire !

They shake! like broken waves their squares retire !
On them, hussars! Now give them rein and heel;

Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire :
Earth cries for blood! In thunder on them wheel !
This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal!

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1. AGAINST PHILIP. – Demosthenes. Original Translation. Demosthenes, whose claim to the title of the greatest of orators has not yet been supersedel, was born at Athens, about 380 B. C. At the age of seventeen he determined to study eloquence, though his lungs were weak, his articulation imperfect, and his gestures awkward. These impediments he overcame by perseverance. When the encroachments of Philip, King of Mace. don, alarmed the Grecian states, Demosthenes roused his countrymen to resistance by a series of harangues, so celebrated, that similar orations are, to this day, often styled Philippics. The influence which he acquired he employed for the good of his country. The charges that have come down of his cowardice and vepality are believed to be calumnious. It is related of Demosthenes, that, while studying Oratory, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth, to cure himself of stammering ; that he repeated verses of the poets as he ran up hill, to strengthen his voice ; and that he declaimed on the sea-shore, to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular assembly. He died 322 B. C. The speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before select, not acci. dental, assemblages of the people ; and they have here been placed under the Senatorial head, as partaking mostly of that style of Oratory. The first four extracts, from the first, third, eizhth and ninth Philippics, which follow, together with the extract from Æschines on the Crown, are chietly translated from Stiévenart's excellent and very spirited version.

Begin, O men of Athens, by not despairing of your situation, however deplorable it may seem; for the very cause of your former reverses offers the best encouragement for the future. And how ? Your utter supineness, O Athenians, has brought about your disasters. If these had come upon you in spite of your most strenuous exertions, then only might all hopes of an amelioration in your affairs be abandoned. When, then, O my countrymen! when will you do your duty ? What wait you? Truly, an event! or else, by Jupiter, necessity! But how can we construe otherwise what has already occurred ? For myself, I can conceive of no necessity more urgent to free souls than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wish to go about the public places, here and there, continually, asking, “What is there new ? ” Ah! what should there be new, if not that a Macedonian could conquer Athens, and lord it over Greece ? “ Is Philip dead ? " “ No, by Jupiter! he is sick.” Dead or sick, what matters it to you? If he were to die, and your vigilance were to continue slack as now, you would cause a new Philip to rise up

since this one owes his aggrandizement less to his own power than to your inertness !

It is a matter of astonishment to me, O Athenians, that none of you are aroused either to reflection or to anger, in beholding a war, begun for the chastisement of Philip, degenerate at last into a war of defence against him. And it is evident that he will not stop even yet, unless we bar his progress. But where, it is asked, shall we make a descent?

at once,

Let us but attack, 0, Athenians, and the war itself will disclose the enemy's weak point. But, if we tarry at home, lazily listening to speech-makers, in their emulous abuse of one another, never, — no, never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step!

Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting with Lacedæmon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our democracies; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King; others tell us he is fortifying places in Illyria. All have their different stories. For myself, Athenians, I do, by the Gods, believe that this man is intoxicated by his magnificent exploits; I believe that a thousand dazzling projects lure his imagination; and that, seeing no barrier opposed to his career, he is inflated by success. But, trust me, he does not so combine his plans that all our fools of low degree may penetrate them; which fools — who are they but the gossips? If, leaving them to their reveries, we would consider that this man is our enemy, our despoiler, — that we have long endured his insolence; that all the succors, on which we counted, have been turned against us; that henceforth our only resource is in ourselves; that, to refuse now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to impose upon us the fatal necessity of sustaining it at the gates of Athens ; - if we would comprehend all this, we should then know what it imports us to know, and discard all idiot conjectures. For it is not your duty to dive into the future; but it does behoove you to look in the face the calamities which that future must bring, unless you present heedless inactivity.

shake off your

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2. DEGENERACY OF ATHENS. – Demosthenes. Original Translation. CONTRAST, O men of Athens, your conduct with that of your ancestors. Loyal towards the People of Greece, religious towards the Gods, faithful to the rule of civic equality, they mounted, by a sure path, to the summit of prosperity. What is your condition, under your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it in any respect changed ? In how many! I confine myself to this simple fact: Sparta prostrate, Thebes occupied elsewhere, — with no power capable of disputing our sovereignty, — able, in fact, in the peaceable possession of our own domains, to be the umpire of other Nations, what have we done? We have lost our own provinces ; and dissipated, with no good result, more than fifteen hundred talents; the allies which we had gained by war your counsellors have deprived us of by peace; and we have trained up to power our formidable foe. Whosoever denies this, let him stand forth, and tell me where, then, has this Philip drawn his strength, if not from the very bosom of Athens ?

Ah! but surely, if abroad we have been weakened, our interior administration is more flourishing. And what are the evidences of this? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, fountains, baga

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